


vienna waits for you

by great_big_worm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Drug Use, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, some allusion to noncon but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_big_worm/pseuds/great_big_worm
Summary: The title of this fic is inspired by the song Vienna by Billy Joel.Sherlock's been missing for a few days. When he finally returns, it's clear to John that he's relapsed.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	vienna waits for you

It's a quarter to 2 in the morning when John hears the door to the flat swing open, the high pitched _creak_ of the hinges drawing his attention from the laptop in front of him. Any other time he'd be in bed by now. Not while his love is nowhere to be found.

The last time John laid eyes on Sherlock was six days ago, just after the pair had successfully brought down a sex trafficking ring run by a sick, depraved old woman that John was more than happy to take off of the streets. When John suggested that they return to the flat to wind down a little, Sherlock insisted that he "had some business to attend to", leaving John right there at the warehouse where they'd made the arrest.

Sherlock didn't come back. It didn't worry John at first, but soon hours turned into days and the detective wasn't camping at any of his usual hideouts. Sherlock Holmes had completely fallen off the map, and it seemed like John was the only one who even thought to look for him.

But here Sherlock stood, beard scruffy and hair greasy, shirtless, clothed in pyjama bottoms that barely clung to his hips and a zip-up sweater that didn't belong to him. Heavy bags had made a home underneath his wild, paranoid eyes. As if he didn't see his partner, Sherlock began to make a beeline for their bedroom. John would have realized how terrified the detective looked had he been paying closer attention, but unfortunately, his mind went straight for anger.

"Sherlock Holmes. Where the _hell_ have you been?" John barked, setting his laptop aside and rising from his spot on the couch. "Do you understand how worried I was? You disappeared from the face of the bloody Earth! I haven't slept in _days,_ I've been handing out missing person posters left and right, and you have the nerve to just try to sneak back into our home without an explanation?!"

Sherlock didn't even so much as flinch at John's tone. 

"I'm tired, John. Please, just... let me catch up on some sleep." 

No, no, no. John was not having that.

The attire. The scruffiness. The irritability in his voice, the anxious look in his eyes, the drowsiness. How did John not guess it before?

"You look _awful._ If you don't want to tell me where you've been, you at least need to answer a question for me so I can help you." John pleaded. "Were you using, and if you were, what substances and how much?"

John watched as Sherlock shifted his gaze from him to the floor, the cogs in his mind clogged and unable to process a single word the soldier said. 

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

He watched the detective grasp at the wall behind him for balance as if he could topple over at any moment. _He probably could,_ John realized. Wordlessly, John guided Sherlock to their bed, propping him up against the headboard with pillows and slowly discarding the hoodie and pyjama pants.

"Not right now," Sherlock groaned, head drooping to his chest. _Not right-?_

"Jesus, no! I'd not shag you _sober,_ Sherlock! I need to check for infected injection sites!" John exclaimed, taking his hands off of his partner at once. Sherlock and he had _never_ done anything that intimate, and unless Sherlock gave the go-ahead, they never would. _So why would he say "not now" instead of flat out saying "no"?_

John could wager a guess as to why. Drugs were expensive, and their combined salaries didn't exactly leave them rolling in dough. They had to be paid for somehow.

He gave his boyfriend a sad look. He would never consider this cheating or use it against Sherlock. It wasn't his fault. 

After noting no infections or other injuries, ("I'm not stupid," Sherlock had moaned when John asked about the sharing of needles,) the soldier grabbed a fresh pair of pyjamas for the detective and darted into the restroom to draw a bath. No doubt Sherlock had been hanging around in some dingy settings or the past week, and judging by the greasy sheen of his hair and the stubbly beard he'd managed to grow, he hadn't had a chance to clean himself properly (or more likely at all). Slowly John hoisted Sherlock up, guided him to the bath, and eased his partner below the water.

"John?" Sherlock's voice quavered, "I think I may have relapsed."

"I know. It's okay." John soothed as he massaged a dollop of shampoo into the detective's hair. "You did really well. I'm proud of you for holding out as long as you did."

"Do you think... do you think I'll do it again?"

John's heart dropped, unsure of how to answer. "Yes. No. Maybe. No two recoveries are the same. But if you _ever_ feel like disappearing for that long, you have to talk to me. You have to _communicate."_

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Funny."

John debated giving Sherlock a shave, but decided against it for the time being. He wanted to get Sherlock resting as quickly as possible. The man probably hadn't slept in a real bed since the night before they broke the case. The soldier took his time helping his boyfriend to their bed, the initial adrenaline and anxiety finally wearing off and leaving him fit to properly attend to Sherlock. After tucking Sherlock into bed, John slid in next to him, properly assessing his own emotions for the first time in an hour.

Holy fuck, was he relieved to be sleeping beside the man he loved.

He didn't like thinking about what life would be like without Sherlock. He'd already had a taste of that when the detective jumped off of that roof. But for it to be permanent? For him to receive a call from Lestrade, saying that Sherlock had been found to have overdosed in a crack house somewhere? For him to have the _actual body_ to prove it?

He needed to stop thinking. Just for a minute.

"I love you." Sherlock mumbled, extending a hand toward the soldier. John accepted it graciously.

"I love you too. Don't you _ever_ do that to me again."

"I won't. I promise."

John knew that that promise would probably last for a maximum of 4 months and then they'd be right back where they started, but he wouldn't worry about that right now. He would just thank a God that he didn't quite believe in that Sherlock had made it home.


End file.
